


A Sunday Kind of Love

by Ms_Anthrop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Hermione Granger, Auror Partners, Auror Severus Snape, Community: sshg_promptfest, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Head Auror Harry Potter, Hurt/Comfort, Older Characters, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Partners to Lovers, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, letting go of the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop
Summary: Severus Snape has always dreamt of the impossible: a Sunday kind of love. When a DMLE raid goes terribly wrong, can something good come from the ashes?An expanded and edited version written for the 2018 round of the SSHG Prompt Fest on Live Journal. COMPLETE.





	1. Chasing Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueartemis07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueartemis07/gifts).



> This is an edited and expanded version of the story that was written for 2018 round of the SSHG Prompt Fest on Live Journal. My thanks to the talented iulia_linnea for modding the fest, and stronghermione for kindly betaing the piece. I chose the following prompt sent in by blueartemis07: 'Lily's ghost isn't forgiving. But Hermione is.' It is complete in five chapters, and I'll be updating every couple of days.
> 
> Whenever I write a new story, I challenge myself to do something different- maybe write a character I can't stand more sympathetically, or use a particular element of writing for the first time. In this case, I've written in the first POV, and I'm pretty pleased with the results.
> 
> Any mistakes are mine, and as always, I eagerly welcome all comments :)

_'_ _And my arms need someone_

_Someone to enfold_

_To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold_

_Love for all my life to have and to hold_

_Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love'-_ Etta James, ' **A Sunday Kind of Love**

 

 

I dreamt of a woman.

My hands were full of her; one spanned the generous, curved warmth of her arse and the other cupped the pleasing heaviness of a breast, the rosy nipple budding under my thumb. She made a happy, interrogative noise, and curled closer until we were pressed together from shoulder to knee in the wide bed. The quiet exhalation of her breath on my shoulder was like a benediction: all was right in the world.

The first golden glimmers of dawn snuck through the white lace curtains of the window, illuminating her hair—the utter antithesis of mine in every way—into a thousand brilliant variations. The silky stuff had defined her since childhood and had fascinated me for almost as long. Handling it brought such a tactile joy, from measuring the sheer tensile strength of each strand to the way it could glide tantalisingly over my stomach as she pleasured me.

As if hearing the direction of my thoughts, her eyes fluttered open, and she focused on me. Even sleepy, her smile could rival the sun; I couldn't help but respond in kind.

"I love you," she murmured, voice husky and rich. One of her clever, delicate hands skated down my side with amorous intent, and I shivered with anticipation. Slowly, I lowered my mouth until her plump lips parted. Stilling the movement at the last second, I waited.

"Severus…" she begged, the pleading tone sending a gratifying jolt through my body.

"I love you, too," I whispered with a smirk, and took her mouth in a languid, lengthy kiss.

Cock hardening, I let my hands roam over the lush hills and valleys of her body; the scent of our desire filled the air. She moaned, hands squeezing reflexively as the sensations began to tumble together. It was utterly glorious, the way her body yielded to my unspoken question. _Mine, mine, mine!_

Then she spread her legs and tilted her hips just so; it was an invitation and invocation all in one.

"Please…" Her gaze was impossible to resist. Reaching down to position myself, I couldn't help but groan at the slick heat that met my fingers.

"Oh, my love…"

And then I woke.

My hands were empty. The sheets were barren.

She had never been in my bed, and never would.

Desolation settled over me far more thoroughly than the thin cotton coverlet bunched at my feet ever could. For years, the dream had plagued my sleeping hours, teasing me with possibilities of a future that could never come to fruition; my reprehensible actions had long ago ensured that she would never wake in my arms to murmur words of love and comfort.

"It's all your fault that you're alone, you know," the spectral presence of Lily Evans said from the foot of the bed. Anger sharpened her green eyes into chips of hard emerald. "You always say and do the most unforgivable things, Sev-"

"And you've always been here to remind me of that fact," I growled, hating that my mental landscape had become enough of a quagmire that I had been reduced to arguing with a figment of my sub-consciousness; I was enough of a fuckup to not even warrant a proper haunting.

"You will always be alone," she returned flatly, turning her back to me.

"Enough," I choked out and squeezed my eyes shut. It took time and effort to pull my mental shields up, but I eventually managed to shove majority of the foolish sentiment away, and with that, the lingering remnants of my past dissolved into nothingness. _Being alone isn't the end of the world_ , I told myself, deliberately recalling the horrifying feeling of my life's blood leeching away onto the floor of the Shrieking Shack as Nagini's venom ravaged my nervous system. _Being hated and so very nearly dead on the other hand…_

Enough time had passed since my own _Annus Horribilis_ as Headmaster of Hogwarts that I was no longer the most hated man in Wizarding Britain. Time did indeed heal some wounds, and as for the rest… well, I had spent the majority of my fifty-eight years sans companionship; I would undoubtedly survive another fifty-eight. Rolling, I scowled at the baleful red numbers of my alarm clock.

Five forty-one.

There was no use trying to go back to sleep; the bloody thing would be going off soon enough. With a sigh, I turned over again, staring up at the unrelieved white of the ceiling. The not-quite-eggshell colour matched the carpet and walls and leant the place a charmless industrial mien. There had been plans to paint, to put up bookshelves and make the blankness more welcoming, but in the year that I had lived in the flat, I had barely unpacked my clothes.

Wishing for the impossible, I was.

An echo of the dream returned, and the remembrance of joy and contentment was like a carving knife to the gut. The thought facing the upcoming day alone—not to mention everyone bloody one thereafter—brought on a fresh wave of nausea.

 _I can't do this_ , I realised dully, my internal pep talk collapsing in the face of reality. _I can't go on like this much longer._

* * *

 

The day warranted, Hermione decided, at least two cups of coffee, if not three for her partner. Covertly, she peered across the desks to the black-clad man, wondering if even that ridiculous amount of caffeine would make a dent in his dour mood. Severus slouched in his creaky leather chair, appearing for the entire world like someone who belonged in the holding cells rather than minding the shop.

It frightened her, his recent despondency, and she had not a clue what the cause might be. Granted, he had never been the cheerful sort, but the man had always possessed a sardonic if dark sense of humour and an inner fortitude that seemed to weather any crisis. But lately… lately, he had been pulling away from her, flatly refusing to speak about anything not related to tasks in front of them. She knew better than to push; Severus was precisely the type to cut off his nose to spite his face. He would speak to her about what was wrong or he wouldn't, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it other than try to wait the stubborn git out.

For at least the hundredth time she wondered why he was here, ostensibly fighting crime and various dark magic-fuelled acts of pure stupidity. It wasn't for the Galleons or the institutional glory; he had a vault crammed full of gold, not to mention a rather vitriolic view of the Ministry of Magic on the best of days. Likewise, he wasn't staying because he loved the thrill of the hunt, or some equally trite notion.

_To be fair, you hardly want to be here most days. It's not as if you blame him on that count._

Hermione had spent the last twenty years working for the Ministry of Magic, with the first part of her career spent in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It had been frustrating, if occasionally rewarding; Harry had finally managed to lure her over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement once Rose and Hugo matriculated to Hogwarts. She had been mulling a move to the private sector when she had been assigned to Severus as a partner.

The first year had been quite… rocky. Matters had not been helped by the fact that her marriage to Ron had started its inevitable swan dive, nor that she and Severus were both admittedly pig-headed to a fault. But almost eight years on, she couldn't fathom working with anyone else.

Frankly, he was the only reason that she had stayed on. There had been other job offers, most recently a dream position curating the dark artefacts and tomes of the Magical British Library. But resigning would leave Severus high and dry; the thought of him being assigned one of the recent Aurory graduates was both amusing and downright terrifying. _Which leads you back to the question of why Severus is still here. If I've gotten offers, then so has he_ _…_

Repressing a sigh at the mire, she walked over the beige filing cabinet and gave it a good yank. With an ear-piercing squeal, it grudgingly opened, and she started flipping through the pending cases.

"We still have the Ali-Stroud interviews to finish, and we've been assigned a suspected poisoning in Gloucester. Any preference as to which we tackle first?"

He glanced up momentarily, rubbing at the deep crease between his brows. "No."

With a loud bang, the door flew open, and Auror Trainee Kevin Murphy bounded in with all the enthusiasm of a Labrador pursuing a shiny new ball. "A raid!" he excitedly blurted. "There's going to be a raid!"

"Are you completely bereft of all common sense and manners?" Severus inquired icily, rising to his feet in a ripple of black, wand in hand. "Or were you never taught to knock before entering a room?"

Murphy— who couldn't be more than twenty-two—paled visibly and swallowed. "But, sir… there's going to be a raid…"

"Joyous as you doubtless find the occasion, it does not, in fact, constitute an emergency requiring you violate the sanctity of this office. Turn around and leave this room. You will shut the door behind you—quietly, mind— and count to ten. Once you have done so, you may knock—again, quietly—and wait until you are granted entry. Then, and only then, may you try to deliver your message. Preferably with a whiff of decorum as benefits your position."

The boy's mouth opened and shut several times, reminding Hermione of a helpless guppy.

"Is there anything not clear in my instructions? Do I need to sketch a diagram, perhaps?"

Shaking his head, Murphy backed away and shut the door extremely carefully.

Turning to Severus, Hermione shot him an arch look. "'Violate the sanctity of this office'? That's a bit much, don't you think?"

He gave a disgusted snort. "Not at all. Someone needs to housetrain the daft blighter before he starts chewing on shoes or leaving puddles in the corner."

Amused at the similarities in their mental metaphors of the rookie, she smiled. "Given your performance, there very well may be a puddle at our door."

"And if there is, he doesn't belong here." He shrugged, ebony wand returning to its sheath. "There are far scarier things than I gadding about. Rita Skeeter, for example. Did you see the length of her skirt yesterday? I've seen larger bibs on babies. And that hue of pink! It's a pity I can no longer remove House points…"

The knock at the door was a welcome interruption.

"Enter!" Severus bellowed, foul mood increasing by the second.

"Inspector Snape, Inspector Granger?" Murphy said with a quiver. "The Unspeakables have requested our presence for a raid at a farm in Somerset…"

* * *

 

"…and if that horse-faced, daft little gobshite of a wizard gets within wand range again, I swear I'll hex him a million ways to Sunday, bloody fucking paperwork be damned!"

Naturally, the raid had swiftly gone pear-shaped, and while my bony arse had no problem fitting through the gap in the garden fence, Granger was having considerably more difficulty making it through to the lone spot of cover in our vicinity. The spells ricocheting about the roses didn't help, nor the nails that were shredding her trousers to bits. It shouldn't have been funny—it wasn't, not really—but the situation was so absurd that I could help but let out a rough bark of laughter as I leaned back against a stone wall trying to catch my breath.

She heard it of course, and for a brief second her bourbon brown eyes narrowed on mine, promising a most dire retribution once we were free of the afternoon's mad enterprise. Her perturbed expression was a deeply familiar one, and I felt a rush of entirely inappropriate affection for my partner. I had been furious when she had first been assigned to me—I mean, come on, Hermione Granger, Queen of the Know-It-Alls and Gryffindor Extraordinaire as my partner?—but she eventually wore me down, as is her custom for most things. As odd at seemed, she had become my best friend and was the one person that I absolutely trusted.

_And if I want her to continue trusting me, I need to do a hell of a lot more than sit here and have a laugh!_

Snapping a strong shielding charm over her exposed backside, I began to cast a series of careful _Reducto_ s towards the fence as she continued to wiggle her way free. Her lavender-coloured knickers briefly caught my attention as the hexes heading our way doubled; clearly, the people casting them knew that Granger was nearly to safety. The air turned dusty and foul with mortar as the wall that I was sheltering under was pounded. _Bollocks, we need to get behind this wall, not under it!_

Leaning down, I reached out as far forward as I could, fingers just barely brushing hers. "Stretch, Granger, Stretch! You supposedly do all that ruddy yoga for a reason!" I hissed and finally snagged her delicate wrist. With an almighty tug, I yanked her to my position and found myself in possession of an armful of furious woman.

There was an odd hush, and everything seemed to go utterly still for an endless moment; I became hyperaware of the soft, warm skin under my palms, and the way that Granger's eyes were locked onto mine. The remembrance of the tender, languid siren of my early morning dreams swirled into being; she was so different than the fierce warrior in my lap—a woman who had just been painting the air black with vulgar assortment of retaliatory threats—that my foolish desires were shown to be nothing more than a bitter helping of chalk and cheese.

 _Oh, Hermione…_ I thought with sorrow and watched her eyes dilate even further as if hearing my unspoken plea. But it was horror that filled her gaze, not affection, as a deafening explosion rent the air into a million shrapnel-shaped pieces.

Unadulterated agony burst over my entire body, my vision filling with a red mist.

Then there was nothing.


	2. The Power of... Drugs

The antiseptic tang of St. Mungo's rushed up to greet me, the low hum of the hospital gradually filtering through the static filling my ears. I lay prone and oddly numb in a too-soft bed; other than that detachment, I could tell nothing of my condition.

Gunk had sealed my eyes shut, and it took a great deal of effort to pry them open. The room slowly resolved into blurry shapes and colours, but no matter how much I blinked, it refused to come into focus.

There was blob huddled directly to my right, and from the crazy brown fuzz that topped it and the petite frame, I deduced that it was Granger.

"Whaggnhnhnh…" was the best I could manage, but it was enough to get her attention. Jerking, Granger sat up, reaching across the bed to carefully take my hand.

"Severus?" she asked, sounded utterly weary and exhausted.

Swallowing hard—my throat felt like it had recently hosted a three-day music festival—I tried again. "Cannt… see."

She rose, hands fluttering. "Of course. You still have residue from the vision unguent coating your eyes. Hold on." She moved away, and I heard a running tap. Returning to my side, she leaned down. "Steady now…"

A warm flannel brushed across my face, and I heard her murmur a cleansing charm. When she removed the cloth, the world abruptly regained its sharp edges, and I squinted against the sudden light.

"Close your eyes if you start seeing any spots," Granger ordered. "You almost lost your sight."

With a grunt, I shifted in the bed to glare at her. My eyebrow—and indeed, my entire face—refused to cooperate in the gesture, and I was left staring at her like a simpleton. Thankfully, she understood the look and resumed speaking.

"You've been in a coma for three days. We're at St. Mungo's, but I rather think you've figured that out. I don't know if you recall, but we were sent on a raid and got pinned down beside a brick wall when it all went to shit. The wall collapsed. For some idiotic reason," she continued acidly, "you had placed a shielding charm over me, but not yourself. When the wall collapsed…"

Her voice cracked. "Your head and face took the brunt of the damage from the bricks. There was considerable swelling on your brain due to a skull fracture, and three of your front teeth were knocked out. You also fractured both cheekbones and the left side of your jaw, as well as your nose. And then there was the damage to your eyes..."

That explained the strange numbness in my face; all the required healing charms and potions meant it would be several days before full feeling returned. Given the laundry list of injuries, I wasn't looking forward to the coming attractions.

"You?" I croaked, seeing the faint wisps of green and blue bruising on her arms that indicated she'd gotten hurt as well.

Granger shrugged dismissively. "Some bumps and bruises. A bit of magical depletion. As promised, Harry has a load of paperwork to do."

Her expression was suddenly closed off, and it made my gut twist with guilt. Had Granger been forced to kill someone for my sake? Had one of the other investigative teams been hurt? I examined what I could see of her for clues. Granger was wearing a pair of faded hospital scrubs instead of robes, her face pale and hollow-eyed, and I thought I could see several sprigs of hay sticking from her hair. She hadn't been taking care of herself then; more than likely she'd only hit herself with a cleansing charm and hadn't eaten a decent meal in three days because she'd chosen to chain herself to my bedside instead.

 _Foolish, sentimental woman_ , I thought tiredly, a haze starting to descend and muddling my thoughts. "You needashower…"

Shock coloured her continence. "Three days in a coma, and that's all you have to say to me!? Christ, Severus!" she exclaimed, hurt obvious.

My vision started to go dark around the edges, and faintly, I could hear Lily's mocking laugh at my latest verbal cock-up. _That's not what I meant at all_ , I thought, but the words got stuck in my throat. _I just want you to take care of yourself…_

Granger didn't say anything else, and I was powerless to resist the lure of Morpheus. Eyes finally falling shut, I sunk into unconscious.

The last thing I heard was a wet sniff as if someone had started crying.

* * *

 

The light in the room was completely different when I woke for the second time. I turned my head and saw that the chair next to my bed was empty.

A dull sort of resignation filled me, the echo of Granger's sniff loud in my mind. I wasn't surprised that I had finally driven her off. It didn't help that purposely held her at arms' length—I didn't even use her first name in the privacy of my own thoughts. Regrets and what-ifs swirled thickly, but this time my mind was clear enough from the potions that I made some headway in freezing them out. Slowly, I began to count the spots on the ceiling.

"Finally awake, are you?" I jumped at the unexpected question, rolling to my other side to confront the unknown person.

Angry emerald eyes met mine, the impact still a slap even after several decades.

Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Become-A-Bureaucrat-And-My-Bloody-Boss, sat in the opposite chair, a truly massive pile of paperwork at his elbow. A small phial lay on the table, and he reached for it.

"The Healers said you were to drink this as soon as you woke up again," he said, standing up to slide an arm behind my back. I managed to not flinch at the touch as he helped me to sit up. Popping open the cork, he held it to my mouth.

It tasted strongly of anise, and as it trickled down my gut, seemed to remove the last layer of gauze that sheltered me from reality. Experimentally, I swallowed hard, noting a clear improvement in my throat.

"Where is she?" I asked gruffly, pleased at my ability to articulate once more.

Potter walked over the small sink by the lav, filling a paper cup with water. Wordlessly, he handed it over, eyes clinically sweeping over me.

"As you ordered, Hermione's left to take a shower and change. I asked Kingsley to drag her to the cantina when she's finished to finally get some food. She'll be back shortly, I imagine."

 _She's not gone. She hasn't left me for good._ I relaxed weakly back onto the pillows, feeling vaguely ridiculous in thinking that she'd left for good and relieved that Potter hadn't forgotten Granger's habit of neglecting herself in times of stress.

"What happened?" I asked again, my earlier concerns about the raid returning to the forefront.

"Other than you almost getting killed due to your utter carelessness?" Potter shot back.

"Yes, other than that, Potter. Did anyone die?"

He sighed in frustration, dropping back in his chair. "No, thank Merlin. After you got pummelled by the wall, Hermione let loose with a blast of wild magic that knocked everyone—criminal, Auror, or Unspeakable alike—in a thousand feet radius out cold. I had just arrived with a term of reinforcements and caught the last of it. I still have a ruddy migraine, and it's been three days."

Taking a deep breath in, I marshalled my thoughts. "How badly was she hurt?"

"Broken arm, and some deep cuts and a myriad of bruises. She was also pretty drained from exerting that much magic and then getting you here in one piece." Seeing my expression, he added, "She'll be fine in a couple of days, Snape."

"Good," I grunted, moving my legs about to see what my chances of walking in the near future might be.

"Good?" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "That's all you have to say?"

"To you, yes." It was petty, but I did enjoy winding him up. Silver linings, and all that rot.

"In case you've forgotten, I am the Head of the Department, and you work for me!"

"And I'll make my report within the required forty-eight hours of leaving the hospital."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Snape? Do you care at all?"

The golden desires of my dreams floated through my thoughts, and I felt my own antagonism spike. "I care," I said through clenched teeth, wondering how the boy could be so completely blind even after all these years. In some ways, he was far more Albus Dumbledore's protégée than James Potter's son. Potter Senior at least credited me with lasting feelings.

"If you care so much, then why did you act with an utter disregard for the normal safety protocols? You can keep up a shield spell longer than anyone I know, and yet when you needed it? Nothing!" Potter leaned close, gaze sparking. "I know that you don't give a fiddler's damn about your own sorry hide, but do you have any idea what it would have done to Hermione to lose you? When she brought you here, she was an absolute mess. I've never seen her so hysterical, not even during the worst of it!"

As intended, guilt assailed me, and it took all my self-control to not lash out.

"Harry," Granger interrupted suddenly from the doorway. For all that she was cleaned up, she still looked like hell. "Enough. Save the lecturing for me."

"Mione—"

"Don't," she said tersely. "We've already been through this. Severus shifted his shields over to cover me and was sending out a load of defensive hexes to boot. One person can only do so much. If the wall hadn't have collapsed, he would have been fine."

"But it did," he returned stubbornly.

Granger's shoulders slumped. "Harry, I can't do this right now."

Instantly, the fight left Potter, and he stepped forward to give her a hug. She leaned into the gesture, and I was both jealous of the natural affection and reassured that Potter wasn't a total fuckwit when it counted.

"Severus…" she began but got no further when the door crashed open, a bustling figure appearing. My body automatically tensed, the lack of privacy grating on my already shredded nerves.

"I see our patient is awake and alert! Wonderful!" said a Healer in the overly officious tones that I despised. "I'm Healer Linton. How are we feeling?"

I glared at the woman—my eyebrow cooperated this time—and pointedly said, "I would like to know what my course of treatment will be."

Her pale blue eyes narrowed, but she answered readily enough. "You'll be on two more courses of Blood Replenisher and Skel-Gro, as well as a round of antibiotics. We need to monitor your _cerebrospinal fluid_ levels to ensure that there isn't a leak or infection…"

Letting her natter on, I planned my exit.

"…and in conclusion, you should only need to be here another five to seven days before we can clear you. You can't do any magic until then, but on the plus side, you won't snore anymore, and I think that you will find your smile much improved after all the work we've done!"

 _Not bloody likely_ , I told myself, a pounding headache starting. "To paraphrase, I need several courses of the more common healing potions, the occasional monitoring charm to make sure my brain doesn't fall into rot, and physical therapy to regain muscle tone."

Healer Linton blinked several times, sensing the trap. "Yes."

"Good. I want the self-discharge paperwork and my wand back. I'll be leaving as soon as I am dressed."

"Mr Snape," the woman spluttered, affronted. "Did you hear anything that I just said to you? Your health is so incredibly delicate… you can't possibly leave now!"

"I assure you, I not only can, I will." As if to prove my point, I swung my legs out of bed, shivering at the sensation of cold tiles on my bare toes. I wasn't stupid, however; rather than trying to stand immediately, I remained sitting, letting my blood pressure stabilise.

My gaze flicked briefly over to Granger; her face had lost what little colour it had regained, although she had retained her cool mask of dispassion. _Damn…_

"It's impossible!" the Healer exclaimed.

"No, it's not," I countered flatly. "I've cared for myself with far worse injuries, and I won't stay in this place a minute longer than I must."

At that, the blasted Healer puffed up like an angry, yapping Pomeranian. "Mr Snape, you need to be reasonable. When the pain potions wear off, you will be in agony-"

"So be it," I cut her off and stood. The room spun lazily around me a few times but evened out quickly enough. I was reluctantly impressed with the quality of pharmaceuticals I had been given.

"I should call in the mind-Healers to do a mental eval," Linton muttered, glaring daggers at me.

In one neat movement, Granger slipped protectively between myself and the Healer, Potter moving swiftly to her side. Her voice was clipped and no-nonsense when she spoke.

"No, you won't. As his medical proxy, I'll be the one making that sort of decision if he is judged to be incapable, which he is currently not."

"You aren't a Healer," Linton spat.

"No, I am not. But neither am I an idiot." Waving her hands dismissively towards the door, Granger continued. "I want to speak with Severus privately. Out, both of you."

Potter promptly dragged the Healer from the room, shutting the door behind them with a satisfying click. I subsided back on the bed, watching Granger.

"What is this about, Severus?" she asked.

"You know what it was like the last time I was here. I was a bloody circus exhibit. Hordes of people were in and out of my room at all hours, and most were trying to convince me to let them experiment on my Mark. I won't go through that again."

Granger sighed softly. "Yes, but as much as I hate to admit it, the Healer was right. You'll be in agony once the pain potions wear off. I don't think you realise just how high you are right now."

I shrugged. "I have a fair idea." Seeing that she was unconvinced, I brought out the big guns. "Please, Hermione. I can't stay here."

Begging shamelessly worked, although it made me feel like a bastard when her brown eyes went wet with unshed tears. Without conscious thought, my hand floated out to stroke the soft skin of her cheek.

 _High, indeed_ , I thought, revelling at the feeling. _In for a pence…_ "Come here," I ordered quietly, wanting nothing more than to give her comfort and to be comforted in return.

She obeyed with alacrity, and as her arms encircled my waist, the knot of tension in my chest loosened. I didn't touch her often—and it was a familiarity that I never encouraged—and that alone made it a pleasure sweeter than candy floss. Her warmth chased away some of the clinical coldness, and I let my head rest upon hers, smelling the fresh scent of coconut in her hair.

"Are you really alright?" I asked, letting one hand slowly stroke the graceful column of her spine.

I felt her huff against my shoulder. "Physically? Yes. The rest? Not so much." She tilted her head up, and we stared at each other. "When I Apparated in, I thought you were dead. And it wasn't until last night that your condition started to improve."

The obvious concern and wealth of affection in her expression left me tongue-tied. For a brief second, I almost considered making any one of several foolish statements; then a muffled argument coming from the hallway broke the spell.

"I'm a tough old bastard," I said dryly, releasing her.

Granger rolled her eyes. "'Tough Old Bastard' is not synonymous with indestructible, you know."

"I do."

Huffing again, she stepped back. "I'll only agree to you leaving against medical advice with several provisos."

"Name them." I missed her warmth immediately, and my fingers itched to pull her back into my arms.

"You stay with me in the cottage. I'm not having you go back to that horrid flat in Islington alone until I know that you have sufficiently recovered. Have you even finished unpacking yet?"

"No," I drawled, greatly relieved that she wasn't going to fight me.

"As I thought… secondly, you will follow all of my instructions and take all of your medications. No arguing, no bartering. You do as I say when I say it."

It would be a queer sort of torture to stay with Granger in her home, but I wasn't keen on going it alone. As the saying went, beggars can't be choosers.

"Agreed."

She looked at me suspiciously; I never gave in this easily. "Finally, you will put up with me using whatever diagnostic charms I deem necessary, and if I don't like something I see, you will either submit to me fetching Pomfrey, or we come back here immediately."

"Again, agreed."

"Now I know you must have a head injury," she muttered, moving to the cupboard on the far wall. Opening it, she pulled out a small beaded reticule. Shoving her arm farther into the bag than non-magically possible, she finally emerged brandishing an old rucksack of mine.

Walking back over the bed, Granger tossed it on the coverlet. "There's your spare set of clothes. Do you want me to send Harry in to help you?"

"No." I would have to be dead before I would submit to Potter helping me pull up my pants.

"Fine." Hand streaking out snake-like, Hermione reached behind me and slipped her hand through the gap of my hospital gown. Before I could react, she slapped me hard on the bare arse and then retreated to the door.

My face went as red as my bum. I stood shocked, at an utter loss for words.

Granger smirked, humour dancing over her face for the first time. "Now, go get dressed like a good little boy."

"You perv!"

"Has it really taken you all this time to figure that out?"

She was halfway out the door before I could summon the brain cells to respond. "Nurse Ratched?" I called, waiting for her to turn around. "If you can bust me out of here in less than an hour, I'll give you my copy of 'Libri Turpis Veneni' that you've been drooling over."

"Challenge accepted." And with that, my lady knight squared her shoulders and went to slay dragons on my behalf.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N~ Many, many thanks, my lovely readers. Your excited reaction to this story made me feel like a million galleons. Hugs to everyone who kudo'd, bookmarked, and commented- the conversations I get to have with you all are priceless. Seeing so many familiar names made me grin!
> 
> Nurse Ratched is a reference to the head nurse (and villainous battleaxe) of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'.


	3. Questions and Answers

_A/N~ One last quick update for the weekend! As always, my thanks for reading and commenting :)_

* * *

Hermione was proud of herself; she'd managed to fetch his discharge paperwork and medications in fifty-three minutes. Her joy dimmed, however, when she saw how ghastly an upright Severus looked. His face was severely swollen, and she could see a faint tremor in his non-wand hand as he kept himself upright by leaning on the wall.

_This is sheer madness,_ she thought, but the iron tension of his jaw warned her not to fuss.

"We're all clear," she told him, and he nodded stiffly.

It was a laborious walk to the Apparition point, and Severus was sweating heavily by the time they got there. The orderly that followed them merely shook his head, and then looked to Hermione.

"When you Apparate, you'll want to head for somewhere easy to clean. I'd bet my last Galleon that he's going to spew like Vesuvius when you come out of the turn. And I'd also hold him from behind so you don't get covered it," the man added helpfully.

"Solid advice," Hermione affirmed. Harry sent her an incredulous stare, but she only shrugged.

"I'll call if I need something, yeah?"

Harry rubbed his face. "Yeah, alright. Are you sure you want to Side-Along him?"

"Yeah. The floo would be worse." Leaning forward, she gave him a quick buss on the cheek. "Give Gin and the kids my love."

"Will do," he replied and stepped back.

Wrapping her arms firmly around Severus' lean waist, she took them home.

* * *

The orderly had the right of it; Severus was violently ill. Thankfully, she had thought to bring them to the small boot room. He managed to get most of his sick into the deep sink and not the floor. By the time he finished retching, he was trembling like a leaf and clutching his head.

Utterly terrified that he was going to pass out, Hermione dragged him over to the low sofa that was next to the garden doors and plopped down. Severus collapsed onto her lap. Reaching out to pull his long legs onto the furniture, she pulled him into the recovery position, his head cradled in her lap. His only response was to bury his face in the soft fabric of her sweater, panting roughly with pain and shaking uncontrollably.

Hermione wanted to cry; she hated seeing him in so much distress, and it resurrected the awful memories of holding his limp body three days earlier, as well as far older memories of seeing his broken body in the Shrieking Shack. Biting her lip hard enough to hurt, Hermione started to stroke his fine black hair gently. Here and there were bright silver threads amongst the dark ebony, but for the most part, he hadn't aged much since Tom Riddle had met his end over two decades prior.

As Severus sagged bonelessly into her embrace, she carefully traced the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones in what she hoped was a comforting manner. Frankly, she was shocked that he was allowing her to touch him at all; the man was the least demonstrative person she knew and utterly zealous about guarding his personal space. His skin was like porcelain under her fingertips, the half-moons of his eyelashes standing out in stark contrast to the pallid flesh. Severus wasn't handsome, but his features were compelling, and for a moment, she let herself dream the impossible.

As if sensing the wayward nature of her thoughts, he stirred.

"Do you want a pain potion?" she inquired quietly, not ceasing her gentle stroking.

"Please."

Summoning the bag, she dug out the blue phial and carefully brought it to his lips. Raising his head slightly, he took a healthy swallow. His eyes were miserably bloodshot.

_Oh, you stubborn, foolish man…_

With a wordless grimace, he lay down again, surprising her by not moving from her arms. Taking it as tacit permission, Hermione resumed her careful stroking; slowly the tension leeched from his lean frame.

They lay together in the silence of her sunny kitchen for nearly an hour. As the sun finally set, the room started to go cold.

"Severus?" she murmured, resting her hand on his broad shoulder.

He cautiously rolled over onto his back so that he was looking up at her. "Hmmmm?"

"What is the matter?" Covering his lips with her finger before he could dismiss the question, she continued, "You've been miserable for six months, and unhappy for the last year. Won't you please tell me what's wrong?"

Severus sighed deeply, something undefinable lurking in the dark espresso of his gaze. After nearly a minute, he answered.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" she pressed, heart starting to race.

He closed his eyes, pressing his head back into her stomach. "I want to retire."

Hermione felt like she'd been punched; the thought of not seeing him every day, of not working with him, or having a place in his life…

"That's understandable," she replied, voice shaking faintly.

One black eye cracked open. "I don't have hobbies anymore, Granger. I can't remember the last time I read a book. My life consists of working, eating, and sleeping. I just… I'm done. I'm tired of only seeing darkness and human carnage."

"Why did you stay? There had to have been other job offers."

"Because."

"Because of what?"

Severus made a low, grumbly noise. "Because I didn't want to leave you with an incompetent, daft pillock of a partner. I've been watching the new Aurors coming in. I kept hoping to find someone decent, or at least trainable, but it's been all Kevin Murphy and his ilk."

"I've thought the same thing," Hermione admitted with a weak chuckle. "I was offered a position at the Magical British Library a couple of months back, but I couldn't stomach the thought of leaving you."

"Is the job still open?"

"Yes," she whispered, sorrow flooding her.

"Then take it. Please."

For what seemed like the tenth time that day, Hermione felt like weeping. Fleetingly, she wondered if that was why he was allowing such physical closeness: he had known that he was saying goodbye. "So this was it, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, no one can say that we didn't go out with a bang."

"It was a hell of a bang," he returned, words slurring as the medicine took hold.

"Let's get you to bed while it's still possible for you to stand," she said. After a moment, Severus began to lever himself upright. Cupping his jaw, she turned his head. "Promise me one thing."

"What?"

"You won't just disappear on me. My world would be far darker without you."

He blinked slowly, gaze as fathomless as the cosmos. "As would mine." Bringing his hand up to hers, Severus squeezed it. "I won't disappear. I promise."

* * *

Getting up the stairs to her room was an effort, and they both were out of breath by the time they reached the master.

"So," he panted, blinking at the massive bed, "that's the American king you've been in raptures about, hmmm?"

"It's called a California King, and if you sneer at it, I'll stick you in the guest room and your feet can hang off the mattress all night."

"I'm not sneering. I don't have enough facial control to sneer."

Hermione snorted. "I noticed." Pointing to the en-suite, she said, "Why don't you get ready while I change the sheets."

He bumbled into the bathroom with his rucksack, displaying far less grace than usual. It made her smile. Hermione had just finished changing the bedding when he came out, looking as good as an Inferi after a particularly debauched stag night. Helping him over to the bed, she sat him down and began lining up the various medications he needed to take on the vanity.

"Down the hatch," she said, and he shot her an anaemic glare as she shoved the first medication at him. He cooperated, however, and Hermione was pleased to see that all his vital signs were holding steady, although his blood pressure was still high from the effects of pain.

Snagging the second set of sheets, she headed for the guest room.

"Where are you going?" Severus croaked, struggling to rise.

"To put clean sheets on the other bed."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed." Registering her confusion, he huffed in annoyance. "Granger, this mattress is the size of a Quidditch pitch. We aren't exactly going to get in each other's way. And besides which, you plan on hitting me with diagnostic charms every hour, correct?"

"Well, not every hour," she temporised. She had planned on checking on Severus every hour and a half, not on the hour.

"Then you might as well stay here. It's less of a trip, and you might not wake me that way. Besides, I was told that I no longer snore. I am now the perfect bed companion."

Hermione stared at him, trying to parse out his aim. _He's high as a kite_ , she finally decided, _and I'm sure he'll push me away tomorrow. I might as well enjoy this while I can._

"Alright," she agreed. "But no complaining if I end up being the snorer. I haven't slept in anything but a chair for three days."

* * *

For all that, it took several hours for her to fall asleep, and she couldn't help but watch the man on the other side of the bed. After eight years of working together, she knew parts of him well, but his inner thoughts and desires had always remained a mystery.

In the post-war years, life had been kind—or at least more generous—to him, and she wondered if the peace of the last twenty years had made up for his decades of pain. Despite the many situational improvements, Severus had remained a loner; he was incredibly picky about whom he chose to bestow the gift of his friendship upon, and seemly had no interest whatsoever in romantic entanglements. Hermione had never dared to ask him about his lingering feelings concerning Harry's mum, or if her memory still ruled over his heart. From the outside, at least, he appeared contented behind his walls.

But reflecting on his dissatisfaction over the last year, Hermione questioned if all of his unhappiness could be blamed upon his wish to leave the DMLE. Was he lonely, as she was? Had someone other than Lily ever breached his defences?

Could there even be room for anyone else?

_Oh, Severus_ , she thought as sleep finally claimed her, _I wish you'd let me in…_


	4. Truths

Unlike the cold sterility of the room at St. Mungo's, Hermione's bedroom was a serene oasis, the pale blue curtains moving languidly in the late morning breeze. I woke hungry and with a terrific need for a wee, grateful that she wasn't there to see my hasty, graceless hobble to the loo.

Upon re-entering the room, I saw that she had left me a plate of eggs, toast, and tea under stasis, along with a note that firmly instructed me to "TAKE YOUR MEDS OR ELSE- Nurse Ratched." She had drawn a little heart at the finish of the order, and I was pleased to note the resurgence in her cheek.

Complying dutifully, I went in search of my nursemaid, pleased that my coordination had improved. Unfortunately, my face had several new areas of burning, painful itchiness, indicating that the nerves were starting to function.

_Oh, bless. Sensation!  
_

Hermione was out in the garden, weeding a flower bed. She was wearing a ridiculously large-brimmed sunhat and a pair of shorts that did an excellent job of highlighting her better assets. I tried not to stare.

She straightened when she saw me, smiling warmly. "Back among the living, I see."

"If you say so. And yes, before you ask, I have eaten and taken my medicine."

"What a good little boy," she cooed mockingly. "Shall I give you a lollipop?"

"Use that tone again, and this good little boy will give you something rather more than a bloody lollipop," I retorted sharply, but the threat lacked any real heat. Granger laughed, not impressed.

"Oh, come over here, you grumpy sod, and help me plan out the next part of the garden. Did I tell you that Harry put us both on paid leave for the next month? I figured I might as well use the time to put in that potions garden I've always wanted-"

As I reached her, she slid a warm arm around my waist and leaned into my side companionably. My heart damn near stopped, and for a long second, I stopped hearing her babble.

 _What on earth is she thinking, force cuddling me like this? We don't cuddle!_ I mused, dazed at the bundle of sunshine under my arm. While it was true that I had opened the door by allowing her to fondle my person the day before, the action was still startling. In typical Granger fashion, she'd taken an inch and turned it into a mile.

 _It doesn't matter_ , a traitorous voice shot back. _You won't be working together anymore, and friends do this sort of thing all the time..._

_Uhuh. Friends. Tell yourself another one, Severus Snape…_

"-and so I was thinking about putting some of the nightshades in that corner. What do you think?"

I reined in my wildly careening thoughts, somehow spitting out a halfway decent response. "What's the PH in that area? You want something some more on the alkaline side…"

* * *

The panic on Severus' face when Hermione had put her arm around his waist had been priceless; her imp of the perverse had been stirred when he stumbled out of the cottage looking like a four-year-old just roused from a nap. She'd been giddy when he'd allowed the gesture, and knew that she had a genuinely idiotic smile plastered on her face.

 _Not that I care_ , she thought smugly, basking in the feeling of his long frame pressed against her side. While weeding the mums, Hermione had come to the decision that she was going to push Severus during this enforced idyll to see where their new boundaries lay. It might backfire terribly. Nimue knew that he'd never had a problem shooting her down before and was unlikely to hesitate again. But if it resulted in a positive change?

_Then perhaps the terror of the last four days will have been worth it…_

After ten minutes of conversation, she couldn't help but notice how rigid he'd become; seeing the tense lines of strain on his face, Hermione thought it was best to get him off his feet. Giving Severus an arch look, she pointed to the towering rowan tree.

"Why don't you go have a lie-down in the hammock? You can order me about from there."

Severus scowled but didn't argue. Muttering something about insufferable harridans, he stomped over the hammock, eyeing it dubiously. She turned slightly so that he had a bit of privacy while he climbed in, biting back another laugh at the way his feet and head poked out belligerently as he squirmed into a comfortable position.

He was asleep in less than five minutes. With a fond smile, Hermione picked up abroad leaf from the discard pile, enlarged it, and sent it to hover about Severus to block the worst of the sun.

* * *

Three hours later, Hermione was humming an ancient Spice Girls song—she later realised that it was 'Say You'll Be There'—when Severus' bellow startled her so severely she nearly fell face-first into the raised beds. Whirling about and bringing her wand up in one swift motion, she scanned the garden for the incoming threat.

"Granger!" Severus yelled again, and she was halfway across the lawn before the last syllable of her name had left Severus' lips.

"What?" she exclaimed shrilly, adrenaline rocketing through her body, the small details of the garden coming into sharp focus.

Hair falling over his face as he thrashed in the hammock, Severus growled, "How the hell do I get out of this infernal contraption?"

"What?" she repeated dumbly, coming to a stop just short of the rowan tree and belatedly realising that there was no danger.

"I need to use the loo," he admitted through clenched teeth. Twin spots of red appeared on his cheeks. Any other time she'd be charmed by his embarrassment, amused by his foul mood, but not this time; no, Hermione was wholly and suddenly furious at Severus' obliviousness to her needs. There had been no reason to yell like a stuck crup. He wasn't the only one in the house living on a last, frayed nerve…

Closing her eyes, Hermione slowly counted to ten, willing her temper to subside. It didn't work.

"Typically," she replied flatly, heart still racing. "I hit it with a charm to freeze it into place and then can roll out of it."

He wasn't cowed by her displeasure and snarled right back. "If you remember, I can't exactly do magic right now."

"I remember." With a sharp flick, she performed the charm and stepped back. Even with the aid of magic, it proved to be a problematic maneuverer for Severus. Once he was upright, Hermione turned and headed rapidly back to the raised beds, the press of hot, angry tears necessitating a swift escape.

Apparently, she hadn't been quick enough; Severus caught enough of her expression to belatedly realise that he'd royally put his foot into it. "Granger," he called, the thread of temper colouring his tone.

"Use the downstairs WC," she said tightly over her shoulder. "There's no point in climbing up the stairs if you don't have to."

His tall shadow fell over hers as he pulled her around to face him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" she screamed, the tsunami of her emotions exploding out in a great gush. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Severus Snape? The best bloody Dark Arts wizard in the whole of Britain, and you can't even remember to use a sodding shielding charm when you're under attack?"

Leaning forward so that they were toe-to-toe, Hermione punctuated each word with a solid thunk to his chest. "When I finally managed to get that fucking wall off you, your heart had stopped. Stopped! You were dead! I had to shock you three goddamn times, and then there were rivers of blood pouring out of everywhere, and half your scalp was hanging off your head, and then you started choking…"

She was suddenly shaking uncontrollably, barely able to get the tirade out. "It was like the Shack all over again, and all because you couldn't be bothered to take care of yourself! You may not give a damn about your life, but I do!"

"Hermione…" he said shakily, looking stunned.

"Don't! Don't use that voice and my name against me like that!"

Vision narrowing to a narrow band, Hermione staggered, panic biting hard. Severus' arms yanked her into his chest, and she pulled back futilely, not wanting his succour. But she could only fight so much, and abruptly sagged into his embrace as all her suppressed sentiment came pouring out.

_I could have lost him… oh, God, I could have lost him, too!_

Several minutes passed before she was calm enough to be aware of her surroundings. Hermione was utterly drained, and she could feel Severus' deft fingers tracing a soothing pattern across her back. Picturing the movement in her mind, she realised that he was painting two runic symbols along the long line of her spine: Gebo, which signified a gift or partnership, and Wunjo, which carried the meaning of joy and light. The veiled sentiment made her want to cry all over again.

"It wasn't like that," he finally replied so softly that she had strain to hear him. "You are right. I'm not happy. But it wasn't… I didn't… it was carelessness, not anything else. I wasn't trying to get myself killed, Hermione, I promise."

"Good," she said with a sniff, shifting back to look up at him. "Because I could forgive you of anything but that."

It was the absolute wrong thing to say; in a flash, his face took on the blank, expressionless mask that she hated so much, arms dropping away. He moved back, putting distance between them. The garden seemed suddenly darker.

 _Ahhh_ , she thought, grief settling firmly on her shoulders. _So here are the boundaries. No real difference, it appears._

"When was the last time you ate something?" he eventually asked, gaze travelling to the cottage.

"Breakfast."

"Do you have any food, or should I order takeaway?"

"The village allotment box arrived this morning, so there is plenty of fresh veg." She sighed, leaning against the edge of the raised bed.

"Coconut milk? Red curry paste?"

"In the pantry."

He gave her a sharp nod, moving further away. "I'll make curry."

"Fine. I would appreciate it." It was Hermione's favourite meal, and she supposed that it was as close to an apology as she was going to get. _I do wish that I could be happy with what I have, rather than hoping for the impossible…_

But Severus did surprise her then, reaching out and brushing her cheek in a motion that managed to be both incongruously gentle and brusque all at once.

"You turned the dirt on your face intomud," he explained tersely, wiping the other side. Without waiting for Hermione's reply, he turned and billowed to garden doors.

* * *

I was just pouring the veg into the curry base when Lily spoke from her perch on the kitchen table.

"You shouldn't get used to this," she drawled, tossing her coxcomb red hair over her shoulder. "In what, three, four days, she'll kick you out on your bum, and then where will you be?"

"Islington."

"Hah-bloody-hah." Her voice dropped, concern shining through. "I mean it, Sev. This perfect little cottage life isn't for you."

"Bugger off," I shot back, her words finding lamentable purchase in the vast landscape of my doubts.

"She isn't going to forgive you."

I turned then, facing the ghost of a girl that I had once loved and killed. Reckoned with my own fears. "She might."

"She won't," Lily argued gently. "She cares, I'll grant you that. But she cares about you in the same way that she cares for Harry, for her children… there isn't anything more than that. You made damned sure of that seven years ago."

Hopping off the table top, she advanced like a lioness on the hunt. "Seven years ago, you lashed out just like you always do and said the unforgivable. Burned a bridge. And now you nearly got yourself killed. Another unforgivable."

The recollection of Hermione's tear-stained face returned to me then, caught in the wild, raw grief as she screamed at me for being such a daft idiot in the middle of her garden. There had been such a vulnerability in her expression. A truth.

Turning away, I clutched at the lip of the sink. There was a whiff of hope, and I could not let it be taken from me. Not and survive whole. "She said she could forgive me," I repeated stubbornly.

"I couldn't." I felt the warmth of Lily's breath on my ear. "And I loved you."

The pain of hearing those words was far worse than a thousand lashings; gaining Lily's love while she'd lived had been my Everest; being granted her forgiveness after her death was my Sisyphean endeavour. I had failed at both.

But Hermione wasn't Lily. In a thousand different ways, she had proved herself different. Her love was kind. It was patient and did not demand. If Hermione's love hurt me, it was entirely due to my own actions, not hers; eight years of being partners and friends had proven that.

"Did you really love me? I'm not so sure anymore." The question slipped out my mouth before I could stop it, and I heard Lily hiss as the barb struck home.

"How dare you!"

Standing in a sunny, cheerful kitchen, I felt like my life was hanging in the balance. If I lost Hermione's friendship, it honestly would be the end of the road for me. At the same time, I couldn't step back into our old patterns. But the thought of trying to find a way forward, of asking Hermione for the impossible, made me want to flee like a beast into the wild. No one had truly forgiven me before; not Lily, who had refused to even hear my apologies, and certainly not Albus, who had promised me only a chance at atonement. And then there were the countless others who I could not ask for forgiveness, like Charity...

The memory of Hermione's touch—and it was a treasured memory, not merely a ghostly fantasy—skated across my body. Just yesterday, she'd held me tenderly in her arms when I'd been sick, not a single word of reproach crossing her lips at my reckless haste to be gone from St. Mungo's. This morning, I'd repaid her by scaring her half to death, and she'd still been worried about my sorry hide.

"I dare," I whispered, fear making my throat go tight. "I'm fucking terrified, but for once in my life, I'm going to dare."

Lily laughed disdainfully, the sound entirely too harsh for the warmth of Hermione's cottage. "Yet another mistake. Who would want you, Sev? Really want you, and not just what you could do for them?"

There was no time to answer. With a rattle, the garden door swung open, bring the green scents of the garden into the spice of the kitchen. Lily was suddenly gone, and only Hermione remained.

"That smells wonderful," Hermione said, the whiff of something brittle undermining her calm expression. I could not help but notice that as she moved through the room, she had returned to our usual practice of keeping a careful buffer of space between us. It hurt, especially when I knew that she wasn't trying to punish me, only protect herself.

"I'm glad you think so." With a flick, I turned off the gas and gave the curry a last stir. It would be now or never. Taking a final breath for courage, I turned to face Hermione completely. "Did you mean it when you said that you could forgive me of almost anything?"

She stilled, caution deepening the brown of her eyes. "Yes."

I stepped forward until the gulf between us had narrowed. Reached out. "Hermione, would you forgive me for what I said to you seven years ago?"

* * *

_A/N~ It's a bit of an evil cliffe, I know. While I am not sorry about leaving you hanging, I do promise to update again shortly, and in the meantime, you all can take guesses as to what it was that Severus said that was so terrible ;)_

_As always, my thanks to everyone who read, kudo'd, and bookmarked this story, as well as a special thanks to those who took the time to comment. Happy Reading!  
_


	5. Forgiveness

The incident that changed so much in our partnership had started with another raid gone wrong. Hermione and I had only been working together for the better part of a year and were at loggerheads constantly; finding common ground was about as easy as finding the Isle of Avalon. But on that sweltering summer night, we had fallen into the heat of battle and truly worked together for the first time.

The sheer, stunning beauty of Hermione's magic as she cast out her spells, as well as the way it had intertwined with mine, had frankly left me breathless. In nearly forty years of spellcasting, I had never experienced such a euphoria with another person… such intimate connection. My blood seemed to hum with the lingering power of it, and as we sat in our office completing the incident reports, I was aware that we were treading on unfamiliar, dangerous ground.

Granger was fairly sparking with latent magic as she paced in the small room, her hair a wild, untamed nimbus that made my fingers itch to touch. It wasn't the first time I had been aware of her as a woman; matters had been building between us for some time. But I had been scrupulous in not betraying any hint of desire. Too many people watched us for any sign of impropriety to surface, and besides, she was as far away from an uncomplicated fuck as a woman could get.

As a bent my head back down to the parchment in front of me, a splash of blood stained the surface. "Bollocks," I muttered, casting a hasty cleansing charm.

"What?" she asked, swivelling around to stare at me.

"The ruddy cut on my head won't stay shut," I explained, picking up my wand to apply yet another healing spell.

"Oh, budge over and let me do it." Without waiting for permission, she bossily strode over to my desk and wedged herself between the hard surface and my chair. Cupping the back of my head, she pushed it down and started to peer at my scalp where the laceration was located; in doing so, she had quite neatly put me face-to-face with her lovely, lush tits. Her robes had been carelessly thrown over her chair when we had entered the office, and through the thin fabric of her shirt, I could see that her nipples were hard.

My cock swelled in appreciation, alarm bells dimly ringing in my head.

"Well, no wonder," Granger muttered crossly. "You still have bits of that enchanted mirror in your hair." Exhaling, she let her magic flow over my skin in healing wash, and I shivered with the sensuous pleasure of it. Suddenly, I could picture her naked and riding me in the chair; saw her laid bare on my desk, legs spread open in invitation.

I grabbed her hand, intent on removing it from my person as soon as possible. "Granger," I growled in warning. Her eyes connected with mine, dilating with a sudden, intense heat and registering our nearness—the possibilities!—for the first time.

"Afraid, Severus?" she taunted, and then she did the unexpected. With all the swiftness of a seeker, she dipped her head and kissed me. Her lips were soft and fierce, and my entire body came alive with the promise of it. For the briefest of glorious moments, I let her; then my brain resumed functioning.

Granger was my partner, and although it had gone sour, married. Granger had been my student and was still best friends with the bane of my post-war existence. More than that, Hermione Jean Granger was hazardous to my health. Relentless, brilliant, and beautiful to boot, she had gotten under my skin more than I liked to admit. And she would deeply regret any adulterous liaison with me. Her moral code was such that it would not be something that could be brushed under the rug. She stuck her vows and promises. Although it would shock most people, I would feel the same way. The only crime that I had never been accused of was adultery, and I was determined that it would stay that way.

Given the amount of time we spent together, there was only one choice left open to me; anything less would leave the door open to future temptations, and I knew that I would not be able to resist her sweetness a second time. Roughly, I shoved Granger away and let loose with my temper.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? Have I ever shown the least bit of interest in you?"

Stumbling backwards, she just barely caught herself. Humiliation bloomed on her cheeks. "Considering the way you were just ogling my breasts, I would say yes!"

"When you shove them under my nose like a slag, even I am bound to notice them!" In a flurry of black, I advanced upon her, pinning her to the desk and looming tall.

"Get this in your brushy brain: I do not want you. I am not interested in fucking you under any situation, and I never will be. If you are truly that desperate, you would be better off petitioning your ginger twat of a husband for attention, not sexually harassing me. Touch me like that again—hell, think of me like that again—and I'll bring you up on charges of inappropriate workplace behaviour so fast that even Saint Potter will be left spinning in his high office. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly!" she spat, and I could see the beginnings of shame filling her expressive eyes.

"Good," I drawled mockingly, and then turned swiftly, heading for the door. I had no wish to see her cry. "Then I shall see you next week after we both come back from holiday."

Without waiting for her response, I fled the scene.

* * *

A woman colder than the North Sea entered our shared office ten days later. Pushing my chair back, I looked at her with a raised brow.

"Are we good?"

Granger took her time in answering, and when she did, her voice was perfectly composed. "Yes."

I pointed to the inbox. "There are several new cases. Chose one."

It was a lie, of course. We weren't good. A solid year passed before any level of trust existed again between us. In that time, she finally got divorced, and I slept my way through a parade of curly-haired brunettes. We did not discuss the incident further.

Indeed, our magic never met in a mingled, joyful rush again; although Granger eventually began to treat me fondly, she never once looked at me with anything more than the warmth of a close friendship. Determined to make up for the loss of control, neither did I. But I damn well thought about it.

And then the dreams started.

I was a lost man.

* * *

"Hermione, would you forgive me for what I said to you seven years ago?"

His question rang in her ears, and memories of that terrible night blotted the very warmth from the kitchen. Of all the things that Severus Snape could have asked of her, it was the most unexpected.

Hermione had never been so ashamed of her behaviour as she'd been on that dreadful night. She'd had loads of excuses, of course. There had been the excitement brought on by the raid, as well as the fact that Ron hadn't so much as looked at her with a hint of lust in over a year.

When Severus' glittering black eyes had slid over her breasts and lingered on her lips, it had been both a balm and an intoxicant, firing her blood. Frankly, Severus was sex on a stick when he turned his full attention on her, and just the thought of him… well, she understood why she'd reacted in such a heedless fashion. But it had still been wrong, and she was weirdly grateful that he had acted as he had.

However, that didn't make the utterly mortifying way that Severus had smacked her down hurt any less. Still, he had been correct, she had buried that pain deep. Over the years she had tried to let the wound heal, and he became a stalwart friend. An unconditionally trusted confidante, and nothing else. She did not risk their friendship again.

But now he stood before her, shaking and appearing wholly terrified. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but he placed a trembling finger to her lips.

"You must know that it was nothing but a pack of lies. All of it." He swallowed thickly, voice rough and eyes pleading. "I wanted you then so badly it hurt. And I've dreamt of you for years. That you would forgive me and we could become partners of… of a different sort. That we could build a life together."

Severus stopped speaking, and she could see the pulse in his throat racing. Slowly, she took in his words. Heard what he was saying, and everything that he wasn't.

A flood of emotion nearly knocked her to her knees as realisation dawned. "Oh, you silly, stupid man. I forgave you years ago. You only had to ask."

He blinked, eyes wide and dark, all uncomprehending.

She laughed unsteadily, something blooming in her chest. "Don't you see? I love you. I've been in love with you for years."

Severus made a low, pained noise, reaching for her. "Say it again. Please."

"I forgive you," she whispered, drawing him in. "And I love you."

His mouth crashed into hers, kissing her deeply as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did, but Hermione lost all coherent thought as the years of repressed longing exploded into flame.

She was not passive under the assault; yanking him close, she pressed her curves into him, hands spreading wide on his chest and moaning wantonly. Tongue dancing with hers, he deepened the kiss, but the angle still wasn't right. Giving a frustrated huff, he slid his hands down to her hips and lifted her onto the counter. Swiftly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and they both gasped as the new position brought his swelling cock into the hot valley between her thighs.

"Yes," she panted, pulling at his shirt frantically in search of skin. Severus had better success with hers, ripping the buttons open and bending forward to place a series of open-mouth kisses across her aching breasts.

"You are utterly glorious," he murmured, a sudden humour filling his gaze as he looked up at her. "It's a pity I still can't feel half of my face."

Smiling widely, she stroked his cheek. Half-healed, it was still swollen and warm under her fingers. "You poor man. Come to bed, and let's see if I can find something that you can feel."

* * *

When she finally got his clothes off him, it was hard not to wince. His skin was positively mottled in a cacophony of bruised blue, green, and yellow. Here and there were the remains of far older scars, gone silver with age.

Grief tugged at her; they had come so close to not having any of this, and it was a thought that sent a wave of pain through her. Resolutely, she pushed the what-ifs away and focused on the leanly muscled feast in front of her. Pushing him onto her bed and beginning to strip, Hermione purred, "This once, let me do the work."

"I did promise that I wouldn't argue about any forms of treatment," Severus agreed solemnly, eyes glittering with appreciation as she unhooked her bra. "But I should warn you, when I can properly feel my face again, I'm going to have you ride it until I'm soaked and you're screaming my name. I've dreamt of you, Hermione Jean Granger, and I fully plan on realising all those fantasies."

Just the thought of it made her burn. "I'll hold you to that. Now," she said, drawing on her best nurse impression. "Can you feel this?" Teasingly, she tweaked at the hard caramel nubs of his nipples.

"Yes," he groaned, reaching up and stroking her arms in encouragement.

"And how about this?" Carefully, she straddled him, bringing her mouth down to take his mouth in a languid, sweet kiss as their bodies finally slid together.

"Yes!"

They both gasped when he rolled his hips, Hermione throwing her head back in mute pleasure. His large hands came up and cupped her breasts, kneading and squeezing the sensitive swells until she could hardly think.

"Severus," she pleaded, feeling the hot, blunt head of him catch against her slick centre. The emotion of the moment began to overwhelm her, and she reached for one of his hands, linking her fingers around his.

"I can feel you," he whispered fiercely, "Oh, Hermione, I can feel you…"

Canting her hips to bring his thick length home, she moaned as he slowly filled her. "And that? Can you feel that?"

He was panting, face gone rigid with desire. "Yeesss!" Thrusting up sharply, he buried himself to the hilt. Severus gripped her hand tightly, and in his dark eyes, she could see the same welter of sentiment that she knew filled hers; she knew that neither of them would last long in this dance.

"I love you," he said, tender and fierce and possessive all at once.

"I love you, too," she responded as they moved together as one. Then she was lost in the white heat of their joining, bucking wildly as he thrust rapidly under her. It was too much, and as Severus groaned inrelease, Hermione followed him into the welcome of oblivion.

* * *

We both slept for several hours; the crushing weight of the world had been replaced by the pleasing sensation of the witch I loved snuggling up to my side. Unfortunately, I also hurt all over, the bone-deep ache magnified by the fact that my skin felt several sizes too small. I stirred, wondering if I dared to get up and take a pain potion.

The smooth cadence of Hermione's breathing changed, indicating that she was already awake.

"Are you alright?" she asked, voice low and pleasing in the quiet of her bedroom.

"I hurt," I admitted, cautiously flexing my long feet to see how bad things were.

"Our timing may not have been the best," Hermione agreed dryly.

"It was worth any pain. I rather think…" I began, but before I could say anything more, she stiffened in my arms.

Sitting up, Hermione glared at me, every inch a warrior queen. "Don't you dare say that you could die a happy man, Severus Snape!"

I was startled by her vehemence, and stroked her silky sides in mute comfort. "That wasn't what I was going to say at all."

"Oh." She subsided with embarrassed, and I pulled her down for a careful kiss.

"I was going to say that I rather think that this sort of exercise will negate any need for physical therapy."

Hermione chuckled, but the desperation did not entirely leave her face. "Stay with me, Severus. Don't leave."

"I won't," I promised, seeing that this was one of her emotional minefields and vowing to be more aware of it. "I will take excessive care of myself in future."

She shook her head, eyes closing briefly. "You misunderstand me. Well, not entirely. I do want you to be more careful in future. No, what I meant is that I want you to stay here with me. In the cottage."

Her words sped up as her evident nervousness took over. "I know that this is probably moving things along entirely too quickly, but I don't give a damn. If we are both leaving the DMLE, then there is no need to be discrete. I want you to move in with me. If you want to lounge about and play househusband until you find a purpose, that's fine; if you have more concrete plans, I will support them completely. The garden shed can easily be converted into potions laboratory, for example…"

I placed a gentle finger over her lips, stilling the babble for a moment.

"Just as soon as I am up to doing magic, we can pack up my flat, and I'll put it on the market. We can figure out the rest later."

Sagging back into my arms, Hermione exhaled in relief. "You mean it?"

"Yes. I'm a greedy bastard, Hermione. I want every second that I can get with you."

Her expression softened, and she bit her lower lip. "A romantic bastard, it also seems."

"Perhaps. I do have one condition," I added soberly, feeling my heart rate pick up again as my own nerves made themselves known.

"Which is?"

"I won't play househusband." Before my words could wound, I went on. "But I will be your husband, should you wish it."

"Yes," Hermione replied instantly, gaze going shiny with tears. "Yes, that sounds perfect."

"Good," I said gruffly. "Now that we have that all settled, can I convince you to go downstairs and fetch us both some curry? All this physical therapy has worked up quite the appetite."

She laughed joyfully, the sound full and rich. "For you darling, anything."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Ahhh, see? I may have thrown you all off an evil cliffe, but I included a nice big parachute for the descent. Aren't I nice?
> 
> There were some really thoughtful and kind comments on the last chapter, which I greatly appreciate. My thanks, lovely readers, for making my day! 
> 
> One more chapter left. Happy Reading!


	6. A Sunday Kind of Love

The next three days were the most pleasant sort of torture. As predicted, I was in agony as my body healed. Hermione was a constant, soothing presence, giving me space when I needed it, and being at my side when I needed her more. As a distraction she read to me, choosing a smutty romance novel to make up for the fact that matters were by necessity remaining chaste between us; I promised to read aloud from her favourite once I fully recovered.

Indeed, by the third day, I had recovered sufficiently enough that we were risking a heated snog on the sofa when Hermione's floo roared to life, Rose Weasley stepping out. For a priceless moment, her expressive face went blank with shock, and then with an admirable sangfroid, she thrust a forward a round tin as an offering.

"Hiya, Mum, Mr Snape." She raised a challenging red eyebrow at me. "I do hope that you like cherry tarts. The newest series of the Great British Bake Off is about to start, and I baked one to celebrate."

I removed my mouth from her mother's breast with an audible pop, pulling her shirt swiftly closed as I did. I smiled wolfishly; the embarrassment that Hermione was likely feeling over getting caught by her daughter was a more than adequate recompense for her little ass slap stunt in the hospital. The utter bliss of playing with Hermione's breasts also helped dull any discomfort. "I do. As long as it's a good bake, that is."

Rose laughed merrily, heading for the kitchen. "Spoken like a former Potions Professor."

Hermione had turned as red as any cherry, burying her face in my shoulder. "Oh, god. I am never going to be able to look my daughter in the eye again. What on earth am I going to tell her?"

Smirking, I re-fastened the clasp of her bra and began buttoning her shirt. "All this from the woman that so-confidently declared herself a perv only days ago… well, you can tell her that when a man loves a woman, and she him, and they find themselves alone…"

Giving my hand a whack, she took over the re-robing duties. "Easy for you to say."

"Yes, it is. I love you."

Mollified, she leaned forward and granted me a soft buss of an apology. "And I love you."

"She didn't appear to be mad, Hermione," I remarked, smoothing her tousled curls. "Or for that matter, very surprised. And it could have been worse. It could have been Arthur or Molly… hell, it could have been Potter. We still haven't sent in our reports, and you know how stroppy he gets when paperwork is delayed."

"True," she said with a sigh, removing herself from my lap.

"Go speak with your daughter, and then bring me some cherry tart."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "I hear and obey, oh pasha."

* * *

Hermione was saved from figuring out what to say by her daughter's blunt Wesley nature.

"It's about time you two hooked up," Rose said, dishing up a third piece of tart. "I do hope that you are remembering to use contraception, however. I don't think that I'm ready for another brother or sister at this late stage in the game."

The comment made Hermione's blood cold. She was only thirty-eight, which was quite young for a witch, never mind a Muggle, and they hadn't used any procreation...

"Fuck," Severus said loudly from the lounge. Wordlessly, Hermione pulled her wand and performed the anti-fertility charm. It would have to do for the moment until they could take stock.

"Rose, you aren't mad, are you?" she asked after taking a moment to calm herself.

Rose grinned again, handing her a dish. "No. I'd only be unhappy if you kept making googly-eyes at each other for the next ten years without doing a ruddy thing about it."

Sputtering, Hermione tried to deny it. "It's only been eight years, and we haven't… that is to say-"

"Mum, please. Even Hugo has pulled his nose out of a book long enough to notice the chemistry between you." She put a stubborn hand to her hip and ploughed on. "When you talk about your day—or anything really—it always leads back to him. And he's always watching you. Even when you've had a row, he gaze is constantly flicking back to you to make sure that you're okay. Dad never did that; he flat ignored you when he was angry, or if something shiny caught his attention."

Hermione laughed at the candid quip before the weight of Rose's observation struck her. "Severus does?"

"Mr Snape has been in love with you for years." Rose turned her suddenly serious gaze to the doorway. "Haven't you?"

Severus appeared utterly composed, not at all bothered by the revelation. "Yes, I have been."

Rose shrugged, glancing back at her. "See? Now, come on, enough heartfelt talk for one night. Back to the sofa. GBBO is about to start."

* * *

It was a surreal way to spend an evening. Thankfully, Rose was not inclined to discomfort us further; once the program was over, she got up to leave, announcing that she was off to Muggle London for pub trivia with her brother.

She turned a sunny smile on me, asking, "Would you walk me to the garden Apparition point, Mr Snape?"

I cleared my throat. "I believe that it's past time for you to call me Severus." Getting up, I walked to the door and opened it chivalrously.

"Such the gentlemen," Rose drawled, and Hermione flushed pink again. "Shall I tell Hugo about the two of you when I see him tonight, or do you want me to wait?"

Hermione looked at me, and I smirked. I was happy to leave the timing of any announcements to her.

"Give us a few days, Rose. I can only deal with one smug Weasley at a time."

Rose snorted in amusement. "Dad's going to have a cow, you know."

"I do," Hermione said tartly. "And thankfully, I don't really give a flying fig what he thinks about my love life any longer."

"Cheers to that." Rose saluted her mother and promptly swanned out the door. I followed as quickly as I could. She was silent until we reached the Apparition point. Turning to me, she gave me another amused glance.

"Out with it," I muttered, wondering if she was going to take me to task over despoiling her mother, or threaten my well-being if I was stupid enough to try and treat Hermione poorly.

"Let her fuss over you," she said gently, surprising me. "She needs it. That's how you know she loves you. Dad never got that, either."

"I noticed."

"That he didn't understand, or why she fusses?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I'm a Slytherin. Try both."

Rose's chin firmed in a familiar fashion. "Do you promise?"

Dropping all humour, I answered. "Yes. I need her fussing over me just as much as she needs to fuss."

"Good," Rose said simply, nodding. "Then welcome to the family, Severus."

Despite the overwhelmingly Gryffindor nature to the conversation, I was touched. "In the spirit of family, I would ask a favour of you."

"Name it." Her eager reply was instantaneous, and I was reminded of a much younger Hermione.

I pulled out my wand and set of keys. "I can't do magic for another two days. Would you mind fetching something from my flat?"

"Do I get to know what it is?"

"It's a small black velvet ring box tucked in my pants drawer. Three guesses as to what's in it, and the first two don't count."

"Oh, so in accepting this black-cloak mission, I also get to find out if you are boxers or briefs man?"

"Regretfully."

She gave me a saucy wink. "Boxers, I bet. But silk. Black silk."

"Rose Minerva Weasley…" My glare failed me yet again. It had to be the drugs. Just because I was in love didn't mean I was going soft. "I am more than happy to Obliviate you, and I don't think that your mother would protest in this particular situation."

Laughing, she took the wand and keys, "Alright, alright. Just tell me how to break into your flat, and I'll be on my way."

* * *

Two minutes later I stood alone in the dark of the garden. The spring air was still warm, and carried the scent of flowers and burgeoning life; like a beacon, Hermione was illuminated in the kitchen window, washing the plates over the sink.

It seemed unreal, my sudden wealth of domestic felicity.

For a moment, I heard a familiar womanly whisper on the wind, doubts swirling around me.

"I deserve to be happy," I spoke firmly, daring that voice to challenge me. "I want to be happy. To love, and be loved in return. And I won't fail. Not this time, dammit!"

The garden went quiet for a breathless moment before the hoot of hunting owl broke the standoff. Gradually, the normal night sounds returned. Hermione's magic, so deeply intertwined with her garden and household wards, fell upon me like the balm of moonlight as the quiet soothed my temper.

There was no rejoinder.

Unexpectedly, I felt a bead of moisture fall from my eye. _It's just the drugs_ , I told myself again, hastily wiping my cheek. _I do not cry, and I won't be starting now. For one thing, if Rose catches me blubbering, I'll never hear the end of it._

For the first time since I had left the relative innocence of my childhood behind, I was looking forward to the future. Plans and dreams and all sorts of naughty fantasies filled my mind, and I was utterly content to plan them out while I waited for Rose.

* * *

With a muted pop, Rose returned, hopping up on the fence and giving me that look again. Alas, she did not immediately hand over the request ring box, and I braced myself for another round of Gryffindor fun and games.

"You shock me, Severus. Your pant drawer had colour in it! And pattern!"

"I am a man of many mysteries and much depth." I impatiently gestured for her to hand the goods over, wondering how mad Hermione might be if I threatened to hex her daughter in addition to Obliviation.

She leaned out of my reach, and some of the levity abruptly left Rose's expression. "In the spirit of family, I also have a request to ask of you."

"Name it." _And Merlin help me if I'm not to the challenge of dealing with family matters. Surely it can't be as hard as dealing with Dumbledore or the Dark Lord…_

"Mum's not the only one with a fondness for Slytherins, you know." She glanced away, biting her lip.

Ah. This, after far too many years as Head of House, I could deal with. "You speak, of course, of the fact that you have been dating Scorpio Malfoy for nine months. Is it serious, then?"

Her blush was almost as all-consuming as her mother's. "Yes, on both accounts."

"What do you require of me, Rose?"

"Can you help me figure a way to tell Mum? I know that she and Scorpio's Dad still don't get along…"

I watched the Rose for a moment, surprised at her hesitance after a master class in brashness. "It's not as bad as all that. They snipe at each mostly out of long-standing habit. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if they were both relieved to have a reason to finally bury the hatchet."

"Truly?"

"Truly. Nevertheless, I will help you tell your mother." Raising a brow, I continued. "And if you are very, very nice to me, and forget that you ever saw the contents of my pants drawer, I might even be convinced to assist in engineering a situation in which your father finds out about Scorpio and is forced to take the news with a modicum of grace."

"Oh, would you?" Her bright smiled returned.

"Yes. Alas, their fighting is all too real."

She snorted, handing me the ring box. "Believe me, I picked up on that years ago."

I looked down at the small box, some of the unreality of the last several days returning. Four days prior, Hermione had only been my partner, and my life had been far bleaker. "Did you take a peek?"

"No. I'd rather wait and see it on Mum's hand." A slender finger tapped me on the chin, forcing me to glance up. "You are a good man, Severus Snape, and I am very glad that you love my mother."

Leaning in, she gently kissed my forehead, and I could feel the spirit of her blessing wash over me. My throat closed up, and it was all I could do to give her a tight nod.

"Don't forget what I said. Let her fuss over you."

"I will," I replied gruffly. "And I will fuss over her in return."

Rose jumped down from the fence, suddenly all business. "Excellent. Now, I need to leg it before I miss all of the trivia. Hugo might be a brainiac Ravenclaw in the family, but he knows nothing about sport or pop culture."

"You are dismissed."

That earned me a final laugh. "Thank you. Good night, Severus."

"Good night to you, Rose."

* * *

Hermione was perusing a tightly-packed bookshelf when I walked back into the lounge. Coming up behind her, I slid my arms around her waist and carefully rested my chin on the top of her head, a wave of pure pleasure filling me. How often I had dreamt of precisely this…

"Finding us new reading material, darling?" I asked, letting my voice rumble over the both of us.

"Yes." She leaned back into my embrace, making a noise perilously close to a purr. "What do you think, the dangers of ravishing pirates or a fierce Scottish lord next? You can do a Scottish accent, can't you?"

"Aye." I spun her around and reached into my pocket. "But I'd rather skip the fiction tonight." As smoothly as I could—which was more along the lines of a controlled fall—I dropped to one knee and proffered the velvet box.

Hermione's face went blank as I tried to hide the grimace of pain on mine.

"Severus, you don't have to…"

I shook my head, praying that I could find the right words in the tumble of my emotions and recollections. "Yes, I do. You deserve all the pomp and circumstance I can muster up and all the showy trappings that I can afford… Hermione, you have been my reason to get up in the morning, and if I had any hope or happiness, it's because you gave it to me. You are perfect to me, and now… now you aren't just giving me a future. You're giving me a life, not mere survival."

Moisture re-appeared on my cheek, and I ignored it. It was entirely possible that it came from Hermione. She was leaking like a faucet.

"I love you. Be my partner in life. Be my wife. Please marry me."

She sniffed, blinking rapidly. "Oh, you silly, foolish man. I don't need any of the showy trappings, and you bloody well not perch me on a pedestal like that. I am not perfect!"

Hermione softened the rebuke by cupping my cheek tenderly and then drying it with the hem of her shirt. "The only thing that I want is you. Just you, and your love. Are you still blind to your own worth even after all these years?"

Despite the new world I found myself in, I still couldn't answer that question. Instead, I parried with one of my own. "Do you not like the ring?"

"I don't know. I haven't even looked at it." Taking the box from my hand, she opened it and gasped. "Oh. Oh, Severus. It's perfect!"

"The garnet symbolises consistency," I said thickly, pointing to the centre round-cut stone pedantically. It was surrounded by a swirl of small pearls intertwined in gold. "And the pearls, of course, are for the purity and healing brought by love."

"When did you get this?"

"Six years ago." I smiled weakly. She was going to think me mental. "I was picking something up for Draco as a favour and saw it in the shop. I… I could see it so perfectly on your hand in my mind. And so I bought it."

"We've both been dreadfully foolish, haven't we?" she whispered, still transfixed by the ring.

"Well, that depends. Will you wear my ring, Hermione?"

She met my eyes again, and the sheer emotion I saw in her brown eyes made me grateful that I was already on one knee. "Of course I will! I love it. It's a showy trapping that I will gladly wear."

"And if I put you up on a pedestal, say, for reasons of better access to certain areas?"

She smirked. "On second thought, I'll allow that as well."

"Then say yes, you silly, foolish woman, and put on my ring." Experimentally, I tried to rise. It was not a success. I looked up at my fiancée. "You are also going to have to help me off this floor, or I'll be stuck here all night."

With a joyful laugh, she heaved me to my feet. Pulling her in the direction of the sofa, I let gravity do the rest as we tumbled down together. Gratifyingly, she ended up on my lap, and I began to unbutton her blouse once more.

"Now, where were we before your daughter interrupted us?"

* * *

I woke wrapped around the sweet curves of my wife.

Although rain was pounding on the bedroom windows, the room was warm and peaceful, and I was content to lay in quiet contemplation as Hermione gradually began to stir next to me. In our house, there were no ghosts, and when fear or doubts presented themselves, we dealt with them via the novel concept of open and frank discussions. It was very un-English of us, talking about our feelings in such a fashion, but it had proved to be a rather effective way to navigate life together.

We had gotten married at the registry office a mere three weeks after the raid, and turned in our DMLE resignations to Potter the following week; I don't know what flummoxed him more, but I greatly enjoyed the look of shock that accompanied both announcements.

After taking three months to wallow in wedded bliss, Hermione accepted the Head Archivist position within the Magical section of the British Library. She cut quite the picture in her fitted robes and pencil skirt, and we discovered a shared appreciation for naughty librarian role play. I found that I did not miss working as much as I missed working with my wife, and so I played the role of haughty consultant when she needed a second hand with some dark spell or object. Thankfully, in the wizarding world, nepotism was not only allowed, but encouraged, and we were able to fulfil any number of needs in one neat swoop.

As for myself, I took to retirement like a duck to water. I fussed with potions in the potting shed for several weeks before growing bored and then got down to the serious business of being a dedicated house-husband. Making dinner, gardening, and even cleaning the cottage carried with it such a domestic charm and sense of normalcy that was it revitalising. For the first time in my life, I wallowed in the simple life; I rested, let my mind wander, and had no significant responsibilities other than being in love.

Mostly, I read. Nothing was safe—I blew through Hermione's entire fiction collection in less than two months, and then made daily trips to various shops and libraries in hunt of good books. I didn't give a fig about genre. Reading to Hermione had given me an appreciation for romance novels, but I also enjoyed historical fiction, the more modern bildungsroman and literary works, as well as the odd detective series. While I found plenty to like in the Muggle sphere, the tripe masquerading as novels that I uncovered at Flourish and Blotts was highly infuriating. Given that the Hogwarts curriculum still lacked anything resembling rhetoric or composition, it was hardly a surprise that the modern British witch or wizard could barely string together a coherent sentence.

"So write your own novel, Severus," Hermione had remarked casually one evening as I glared at the latest offending book. "Your sense of drama and pacing has always been excellent, and Merlin knows you have enough stories to pull from to write a hundred stories."

Her suggestion found fertile ground. The very next morning I gave her kiss as she dashed to the floo and then hurried out to the potting shed with a notebook and a handful of biros. Three days later, having tired of my hands cramping and the sheer bloody annoyance of flipping through pages of notes, I bought my first laptop. Three months after that, I had not only learnt how to use a computer but had the first draft of a novel completed. The act of writing was deeply satisfying, and I treasured my story like it was a firstborn child.

To my shock, Luna Lovegood—or rather, Luna Scamander—had shared my distaste for wizarding fiction and had started her own imprint. Over a dinner one evening she disclosed that she was actively seeking new writers, and Hermione helpfully volunteered the details of my latest hobby. At first, I was not pleased with my wife's interference, nor Luna's persistence in wanting to read something that I held so dear. After some underhanded convincing, I allowed the Ravenclaw to see the first three chapters, and she introduced me to her publishing team. Surprisingly, it was a highly competent group, and when a formal offer was made one month later to acquire my book, I accepted.

Eyes travelling to the advance copy on the bedside table, I couldn't help but smirk; pre-sales had been brisk, reviews had been quite encouraging, and I was working on a follow-up novel. And speaking of encouraging…

Hermione rolled away from me slightly, giving the little huff that indicated she was nearly awake. I smiled wolfishly and ran a questing hand down her stomach. She shivered, arching into my touch. Fingers travelling further south, I stroked the welcoming cleft between her thighs; it appeared that wasn't the only one who had been experiencing heated dreams.

My mouth was descending on her just as her eyes fluttered open.

"Severus…" she moaned, gently grasping my hair to guide my tongue to her core.

"Good morning, wife," I rumbled, and she gasped at the sensation of my words on her body.

"Oh, my love..."

Her words were as potent as any potion, stirring the sentiment of my soul. I eagerly set to work. Hermione tasted richly of desire and joy, the perfect start to a sleepy Sunday morning. I couldn't help but give a lustful groan at the sensual feast spread before me.

Even after a year together, this act of love could still seem like a dream. Much to my elation continued elation, it wasn't. After all the years of living in darkness and pain, the loneliness and despair, I had everything that I could ever desire. I knew it for the exceptional blessing that it was, and I was sincerely happy. Resolutely, I pushed thoughts of the past away and devoted myself to pleasuring my beloved wife. All was right in the world, and I wasn't going to waste a second.

* * *

_A/N~ Thank you all for reading! If you've enjoyed this story, check out my bio page for others. Hugs to everyone who supported me in the writing of this story, as well as all the lovely readers who have reviewed over the course of my posting.  
_

_Come September, I'll be posting the final four chapters of 'A Derailed Train of Thought', as well as starting to post a new multi-chapter fic, so keep your eyes out. Wishing everyone a wonderful end to their summer, and as always, happy reading!_


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